New Beginnings
by Irene Moriarty xx
Summary: A twist of fate lands Molly Hooper in 221B, where she and Sherlock discover their affections for one another. Sherlock may not know a lot in terms of sentiment, but he does know one thing: that he'll do anything to make Molly happy, because she deserves it. This is the prequel to my other book Parentlock! At the Daycare.
1. Chapter 1

_Man harpooned by mystery murderer_

 _Daughter abducted — please help!_

Sherlock Holmes groaned and ruffled his hair. Honestly, these cases were simply so boring! Slamming the laptop shut he whipped around and picked up his violin.

The calming tones soothed him. The violin itself was beautiful — the tone was crisp, round and rang around the small flat. It was actually a gift from his sister Eurus, whom he had encountered just two weeks ago (after his own violin was destroyed in an explosion).

Thinking of Eurus brought back memories of the past two weeks. Sherrinford, the governor, being forced to shoot either Mycroft or John and putting the gun to his face instead only to be brought back to his childhood home. And Molly...

The first thing Sherlock did when he was released from the hospital with the incompetent doctors was grab the nearest cab and make sure Molly was okay.

" _Hello?" Molly called through the door, "Who is it?"_

" _It's me, Sherlock," he called back._

 _Silence. Then the door opened._

" _What do you want?" She asked coldly. Her eyes were red and puffy but her scowl was as deep as ever._

" _I need to talk to you." Sherlock said quietly. "I need to fix this."_

" _Fix it!" She exclaimed. "First you force me to confess my love for you, now you just waltz in here expecting a warm welcome! No!" Molly slammed the door._

 _Sherlock raised his hand to knock again but at the last second clenched it into a fist, dropped it to his side and sadly left._

The emotions threatened to take over him again. Sherlock closed his eyes. He would deal with Molly later, she obviously didn't want to see him. There were more pressing matters at hand for now...

He finished playing and carefully set the violin down on it's case. Despite the bomb Eurus had sent to their flat, Baker Street looked much better in just a short two week's time. Lestrade and Anderson had plastered the walls to make them smoother and Mycroft had helped put some wallpaper up. The windows hadn't arrived yet so John put a sheet of plastic over the holes. It wasn't very private but it certainly kept the heat in. The bedrooms and kitchen were in pretty good condition, but the main room was bare since they were still ordering new furniture.

A gust of wind blew through an open hole in the wall and the music Sherlock had been composing blew off it's stand. He bent down to pick it up. _Molly_ , it read. Sherlock quietly hummed it to himself. It was still a work-in-progress but so far he thought it sounded quite nice. If only Molly could hear it now.

" _I never know if it's beautiful or not. Only if it's right."_

" _Often times they're the same thing._

" _If they're the same thing, what is the point in beauty?"_

Sherlock pushed Eurus' voice out of his head and penciled in some bowings. The melody was written in a minor key, E minor to be exact, but it was sweet and powerful at the same time. Like Molly.

Downstairs the door opened and Sherlock heard Mycroft come in. He made no move as his elder brother walked up the stairs.

"Hello Mycroft." Sherlock said, without turning around.

"Sherlock." Mycroft strode in. "I would like you to know that Eurus is safely back in Sherrinford. Secure, this time."

"Hmm." Sherlock absentmindedly ran his fingers over the dusty wall.

"You're keeping it then?" Mycroft pointed to the violin. "Her violin?"

"It's a perfectly fine Stradivarius, and I see no reason to refuse it just because it is a gift from my estranged sister, who, by the way, happened to save John's life."

"After sticking him in a well."

"Mixed messages, I grant you..."

Mycroft looked at the music. " _Molly._ How...sweet. Have you checked in on her yet?"

Sherlock snatched the music away. "I visited her as soon as I got back," he said testily. "which you no doubt already knew."

"How was your _little_ chat?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Sherlock muttered.

"All lives end. All hearts are broken—"

"Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock finished. "Don't you have someplace to be, Mycroft? You know, propping up Parliament or Britain or whatever government you're part of today?" He sneered

"Now that you mention it, yes. I must go visit our parents. Good day, brother mine." Mycroft looked like he wanted to say something else but he simply sighed and left.

Sherlock strode over to where his chair would normally be and wished he could sit down. John was out and Mrs. Hudson was taking care of Rosie. Sherlock was alone, for now.

" _You look sad. When you think he can't see you."_

" _You can see me."_

" _I don't count."_

 _Yes you do!_ Sherlock thought furiously. _You've always counted and I've always trusted you! But you will never trust me again, will you?_

It felt like those horrible weeks after Mary's death, when John and him weren't talking. The look of betrayal, anger and frustration in Molly's eyes when she opened the door was so eerily familiar. What if he lost her, too?

His inbox pinged with a new case. Grateful for a distraction Sherlock set his laptop on the windowsill and opened the email. He scanned it through. It actually looked quite promising. Had to be a 9, at least. He found himself replying his assurances that he would be there to investigate. After all, there was nothing better to do.

The afternoon passed by in a blur. He had six theories, each one as plausible as the next. But to narrow it down he'd need to look at some bodies, which had unfortunately been moved to the mortuary.


	2. Chapter 2

"Barts Hospital, please." Sherlock instructed the cabbie. He debated calling John to look at the bodies but he was busy at work.

It was a silent yet long ride. Sherlock absentmindedly gazed out the window at the little houses beyond, deep in thought. It was already evening, Molly was probably at home cooking dinner. She probably wouldn't be there.

But to his dismay, as he knocked on the door of the mortuary, it was Molly who opened the door.

"I'm going home now." Molly said tightly. "You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"This is urgent!" Sherlock protested.

"Just because you want something doesn't mean the whole world has to kowtow to your needs. Do you even give a thought that maybe other people have plans? Or you know, a life?," Molly told him coldly. "I'm going home and that's final. We open at 8 tomorrow morning." With that she grabbed her coat and stormed out.

The comment about having a life stung. Sherlock did have a life! His job was to figure out who killed who, why they were killed and bring justice to the murderer. And have fun while he was at it. After all, the game is on!

Frustrated, he made his way towards the entrance, but was surprised to see Molly outside on the street, trying to reason with a cabbie. Sherlock arrived just in time to see the cab peel off with Molly grumbling. She turned around and saw Sherlock standing behind her.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"These cabs don't take cash, and I left my card at home." Molly said.

"Here, you can ride with me." Sherlock pulled his card out of his wallet.

"I think I'll just walk." Molly turned on her heel and got ready to walk away, but then it started raining.

"Still want to walk all the way back to you apartment?" Sherlock called after her.

Molly didn't look very happy but seeing no other choice she came back and got in the cab.

Sherlock figured that Molly didn't want to talk so he pulled out his phone and began reading the rest of his cases that had piled up in his absence. _Dull...dull..._ he thought, scrolling through his mail. _I'll read through this later. Ordinary people and their ordinary boring problems. Oh wait, here's one that looks remotely interesting..._

Suddenly there was an ear splitting _screech_ in front of them. Sherlock looked up just in time to see the distracted truck driver hurtling right at them.


	3. Chapter 3

_I that am lost, oh who will find me?_

 _Deep down below, the old beech tree._

 _Help succor me now the East winds blow_

 _Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go_

 _Redbeard was in the well...he had to reach him_

 _Gliding smoothly across the graveyard he reached the stone well and looked down_

 _But it wasn't Victor, it was John in there, calling for help..._

 _Time to solve the Musgrave Ritual!_

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He wasn't in Musgrave Hall, and John wasn't there.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock tried to sit up but someone pushed him back down.

"Huh?" Sherlock looked around. He seemed to be in the back of an ambulance. "What happened? Is Molly okay?"

"Car accident," the voice replied. It was a first responder, a large man with a scruffy goatee. Sherlock's head throbbed and he couldn't make any deductions about the man. "You have a minor concussion, we're taking you to the hospital now."

"Is Molly okay?" Sherlock repeated. But he already read the answer in the man's face.

"Her condition's critical. She's in the other ambulance."

Sherlock's eyes closed as he slowly processed the information. The truck had been coming towards them on his left side, where Molly was sitting. Broken leg, dislocated shoulder...Sherlock mentally listed all the possible injuries that could've befallen her and grew more and more unsettled. He had to see her!

The ambulance slowed to a stop in front of the hospital and the doors opened. Sherlock slid off the stretcher and was glad no one tried to stop him. He jumped down from the ambulance but suddenly felt very dizzy and his headache returned.

"Wait, we need to—" someone called after him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Sherlock said, waving off the doctors and slowly making his way to the doors.

He stumbled to the information desk. "Molly Hooper, car accident, which room was she taken to?"

"Room 7437," the receptionist replied. "But we're not allowing visitors until tomorrow."

"Oh." Just then, the man came back.

"Mr. Holmes, please don't run off like that!" He said, exasperated. "We still need to make sure you're okay!"

Sherlock disliked being called 'Mr. Holmes'. That's what people called his brother.

"Sherlock, please." Sherlock answered. "And I'm feeling alright."

The rest of the doctors were not convinced, however and they still sat him down on a bench to take his blood pressure and a bunch of other measurements. Sherlock begrudgingly put up with it all, for the sooner they finished the sooner he could see Molly. Finally they let him go, after prescribing some pills for him.

Sherlock walked down the hallway and found Molly's room. He tried to look inside but the window was frosted, so he took a seat outside. He didn't want to leave her, after all it was him who told her to take the cab with him.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John came running down the corridor, "I just heard, Rosie's with Mrs. Hudson. What happened?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock mumbled, "We got into an accident. Molly's in there though. She's...she's not doing well."

"Jesus." John took a seat next to him. They both sat there in silence for a bit, until a doctor came out of the room. Sherlock immediately stood up.

"How is she?" He asked.

"She's stable, but she's got a couple injuries," the doctor answered. John and Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.

"Multiple fractures in her left leg, so she won't be able to walk for a few months," she continued, "She'll need someone to take care of her before she can go on crutches. Do you know if she has any family nearby?"

John shook his head. "I don't think so."

The doctor regarded both of them for a moment. "Do you know her well?"

"We work together," Sherlock answered, "And we're...friends."

John cast Sherlock a sideways glance but Sherlock took no notice of it.

"Do you think she could stay with you?" She asked Sherlock.

He hesitated. "I think that's for Molly to decide."

The doctor smiled. "We'll ask her when she wakes up. You can come back tomorrow." She scribbled down some notes on a clipboard and left.

"Sherlock, do you want to—" John started, standing up.

"You go, I'm busy." Sherlock replied.

"Okay," John gave him a meaningful look and left.


	4. Chapter 4

_Say it. Say it like you mean it._

 _I...I love you._

 _I love you._

The bright room slowly came into focus. Molly blinked a couple times and raised her head.

"Miss Hooper?" Molly turned over to see a female doctor standing next to her. "Can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah." She replied. "What happened? Is Sherlock okay?" The words just fell out of her mouth, surprising her. She was mad at Sherlock, so why was she worried about him?

"Sherlock Holmes? Yeah, he's alright. Fell asleep in the lobby last night, I think he wanted to see you. I need to ask you something by the way, but let's do the tests first." The doctor answered. "Now, can you raise your right hand?"

This continued on for a couple minutes, but Molly was preoccupied. Why would Sherlock, the sociopath, the brain without a heart, care for her?

"What were you going to ask me?" Molly interrupted.

"Well, your left leg has multiple fractures, so you won't be able to walk on it," Molly grimaced, "and since you don't have any family nearby Mr. Holmes has offered to watch over you, just for a few months before you can switch to crutches."

Molly hesitated. Living with Sherlock wasn't ideal, but who else could take care of her? John was busy with Rosie and there was no way she was going to stay with Mycroft. Lestrade, maybe, but him and his wife were still repairing their relationship so that wouldn't be a good idea. She mentally rifled through all her options but still reached the same conclusion: She'd need to move in with Sherlock Holmes. _Oh well, it would only be for a couple months._

"Er, yeah that'd be great." Molly said monotonously. The doctor brightened up.

"Okay!" She said cheerfully. "I'll go let him know!"

ooOoo

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked her. Molly had just been discharged from the hospital that evening and she was practicing moving around in her new wheelchair.

"I'm good, thanks." Molly said dismissively, rolling to her left. The wheels were so big and awkward and her arms were already a bit sore.

Sherlock nodded. "I don't suppose you want to ride in a cab again, do you?"

Molly laughed, then quickly chided herself for doing so. "How else will we get to Baker Street? It's a twenty minute walk."

"I can wheel you," Sherlock shrugged, "It's no problem."

Molly started to protest but realized that this was Sherlock's way of trying to make it up to her, trying to apologize to her. He could be extremely socially inept sometimes but when Molly thought about it, when had he ever been outright mean to her? Sure, there was that disastrous Christmas party and when she had been dating 'gay' Jim, but he was only doing what he did best, making deductions about people. And hadn't Jim turned out to be Jim Moriarty, Sherlock's rival, criminal mastermind? Forcing her to say 'I Love You' still wasn't right, but one thing Molly learned from working with Sherlock was that he always had a valid reason for doing things, and whatever the reason for the phone call was, it must've been pretty darn good, otherwise why would he put her as well as himself through that emotional ordeal?

"Okay." Molly said meekly. "But if I hear you out of breath, I'm calling a cab!"

ooOoo

"Sherlock dear? Is that you?" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. She ran out, wearing an apron and holding a bottle of cleaning solution. "Goodness, I've been worried sick! Oh, hello there Molly!" She said, noticing Molly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, thanks." Molly smiled warmly. "I'm staying with Sherlock for now, at least until my leg heals up enough for me to walk on crutches. I hope that's okay."

"Of course dear!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed happily. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming. If I had I would've prepared John's old room for you!"

"It's okay Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock replied. "Molly can take my bed, I can put a mattress on the floor."

"Oh Sherlock, there's no need for that!" Molly interjected. "I can sleep on the floor, you keep your bed."

"Your leg is broken. You will not sleep on the floor. I forbid it." Sherlock countered.

Seeing no point in arguing back Molly accepted his offer. After all, there were more urgent matters, as how to get up the stairs.

"I think I'll have to carry you up," Sherlock muttered, surveying the scene.

"I can take your wheelchair up for you," Mrs. Hudson offered.

"Thanks, but isn't it a bit heavy?" Molly asked, concerned.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Mrs. Hudson said. "I used to carry a lot more than a wheelchair when I was down in Florida selling—" she stopped short. Molly giggled.

In one fluid motion, Sherlock scooped her up and carried her up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson following behind with the wheelchair. As Molly was brought into the room, she was surprised at how empty it was.

She was set down on the bed and Sherlock rolled the wheelchair in, Molly sliding into it.

"John and I can pick up your stuff tonight, just give us a list of what to bring. Excuse me for a moment, I must order dinner. I'm afraid my culinary skills are appalling! Chinese okay?" He asked, making his way towards the door.

"Chinese sounds great," Molly grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

The next few weeks passed by in a blur. Sherlock and Molly fell into a sort of routine. Every morning at 7:30am Sherlock would gently wake Molly. After a quick shower Sherlock would bring her downstairs for breakfast and then wheel her all the way to Barts. He'd meet up with her everyday to take her to lunch, unless he was out on a case, in which case either John or Lestrade would bring her a pre-packed lunch that Mrs. Hudson made. Then he'd pick her up at the end of the day, walk with her all the way back to his flat and order in dinner. Sometimes on weekends he'd bring her in to PT or the clinic to get her leg reviewed.

When the new television and furniture came in Sherlock arranged it so that Molly could roll around the flat without bumping in to anything. After the arrival of the sofa they would watch crap telly together every night before bed.

Sherlock also bought a cookbook. On multiple mornings Molly had woken up to find him furiously scolding a pan, a lump of burned scrambled eggs or pancakes on the floor. The first time he successfully cooked something was mushroom risotto. He was so proud of himself that Mrs. Hudson took a picture of him holding the pan, which Molly taped to the refrigerator.

Sherlock seemed to be happier too, having company in the house. He smiled a lot and joked more often, which was a startling yet welcome change in him.

One day Molly woke up and wasn't feeling too well. She sat up in bed to clear her head but she suddenly felt very dizzy and had to lay back down.

"Good morning Molly," Sherlock walked in. "It's time to wake up."

"Hey Sherlock." Molly tried to act as if nothing was wrong but when she tried to get to her wheelchair she doubled over in a fit of coughing and her vision blurred. Sherlock caught her and rested her back onto the bed.

"Fever." He said, holding his hand up to her forehead. "You stay here. I've just learned how to make instant chicken soup out of those peculiar can-things, I'll bring one over right away." Sherlock shuffled out of the room.

"Thanks." Molly replied weakly. She heard the beeping of the microwave, the _shrink_ of the can opening and Sherlock's light footsteps entering the room.

"Careful, it's hot." He cautiously handed her the bowl. "Now then, I'll go call Barts, tell them you're not coming today. Be right back." Sherlock pulled his cellphone out and left.

Molly finished the soup and yawned. _Good soup_ , she thought drowsily. _Sherlock could be an instant-soup chef one day_.

She didn't remember falling asleep but the next thing she knew it was sometime in the afternoon. There was sleet pounding on the windows and Sherlock was sleeping on his mattress below. He heard her stirring and woke up.

"Feeling better?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. "I picked up some medicine from them drugstore earlier but you were asleep." He handed her a bottle of DayQuil. Molly head had finally stopped hurting and she was able to sit up without feeling nauseous.

"I'm good. Have you been here all afternoon?" She asked.

"Yeah," he confessed. "I was going to give you the DayQuil after you woke up but I fell asleep too."

"Wanna watch crap telly?" Molly suggested. "I'm feeling better now, I think I could even play Cluedo, provided that you don't stab the board to death again."

"Too late," Sherlock grinned. "The last board ended up with my jar of pickled feet."

Molly made a face. "You do you," she shrugged.

Sherlock brought her over to the sofa and grabbed a couple blankets. Crime watch was on at the moment, and Sherlock loved watching it. He loved calling out all the mistakes and the incorrect assumptions the incompetent police were making. Molly scooted closer to Sherlock and leaned her head onto his shoulder. He was a bit taken aback, but to his own surprise he didn't brush her off. Something had happened to him over the course of Molly's stay. Sentiment, he maintained, was a chemical defect found on the losing side, and yet he discovered himself enjoying his time with Molly. He looked forward to every morning when he would cook breakfast for her, wheeling her to Barts as they talked about and came up with theories for some of his cases, those nights huddled together on the sofa watching TV as they were now.

Sherlock's phone rang, bringing him back to the present.

"I'll just be a moment," he stood up and reached into his coat pocket. "Sherlock Holmes."


	6. Chapter 6

One hundred and seven days since the Call.

Ninety three days since the accident.

Thirteen weeks and two days days since Molly had moved in.

Two hours since Molly had received her cast and left Baker Street.

Two hours.

The amount of time it took for Sherlock Holmes, genius detective to finally realize the most obvious thing, staring him in the face for those thirteen weeks.

He loved her. He'd do anything for her, anything at all to bring her back to Baker Street. He knew it was selfish of him but he wished that the doctor could've called one day later to deliver the cast, just one more day.

Sherlock sighed and grabbed his coat. Maybe he'd stop by John's house.

The snow had thickened over the day and Sherlock shivered as the cold penetrated his thin coat. He suddenly realized he was being followed, by a hooded figure on his left. Sherlock quickened his pace a little.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned around to see Molly pulling off her hat. She stared at him for a millisecond, then rushed into his embrace. Both of them were laughing, happy to be back. Far away, a church bell tolled midnight.

"Happy New Year, Molly Hooper." Sherlock shyly kissed her, as fireworks around them sent stars into the sky, signaling the beginning of the new year. A new beginning.


	7. Epilogue

"So where are we going again?" Molly asked. They had been driving for about two hours now, her boyfriend at the wheel. Sherlock and her had been dating for about two years now, and yet he never failed to surprise her.

"Just a quick trip up to the beach. My parents are throwing a party there, and we were invited." He replied.

They pulled into a parking lot. The sky was still blue but it was getting darker. Up ahead Molly could see a fancy restaurant filled with people, and beyond that the Atlantic. It was quite beautiful.

Sherlock and Molly stepped out of the car and made their way towards the restaurant, Sherlock wearing his usual suit and Molly in a black dress. She had a diamond necklace around her neck, a one-year anniversary present from Sherlock.

They were sat down by a server and Molly was taken aback by the menu. Everything was so fancy here, unlike the fast food diners around Baker Street.

It was a good meal. Sherlock and Molly chatted about all the interesting things that had happened to them at work. At one point they were debating about one of Molly's corpses. Molly was fairly sure that the person had been stabbed to death but Sherlock had other ideas. Then they were talking about Sherlock's cases, the funny ones, the baffling ones, and the fascinating ones.

"When will you parents get here?" Molly asked, finishing her wine.

"Soon," Sherlock promised. "But before they do, I want to show you something real quick. Let's go." He took her hand and they left the restaurant.

Sherlock led her over to the rocks. The ocean waves lapped against them, sending sea spray all over. They walked for a little bit along the coastline, taking in the breathtaking views. Molly looked up and saw the sun brush against the horizon, sending purples, reds, and oranges streaking across the sky.

"Wow, look at those sunset—" she faltered. Sherlock was down on one knee and he was holding a small velvet box in his hand.

"Molly Hooper," he said, a big happy smile on his face. "Will you marry me?"

 **Author Note:**

 **This book is the prequel to my Parentlock! At the Daycare one-shots. Thanks for all of your support! I know this book came out earlier than I expected, so I'll probably be writing more soon. Hope you enjoyed! ;)**

 **-Irene xx**


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